


The Anxiety that Built Rich Brooks

by 2babyturtles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Jim's Good Side, Moriarty was REAL, Reporter, Romance, Sweet, White Lie, sweet moriarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 17:13:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11902365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: Jim's not so bad. The world is a scary place full of scary people and it's easier to be alone. But he picked the right place to order tea.





	The Anxiety that Built Rich Brooks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Bae IRL](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Bae+IRL).



The best time of day was early morning. It was the time of day when people went about their business and never expected more than a quick “Hello” or “Good morning.” People rarely stopped to chat in the morning and that was just as well because Jim hated to chat. He always blamed it on his intellect—if he was so much smarter than everybody else, why would he want to talk to anybody else?

But he knew that wasn’t true. At least, not entirely.

Molly Hooper had been smart, and Sherlock was obviously smart. John Watson was probably smart in his own way, too. There were smart people. They were just all so _intimidating._ How was he supposed to just strike up casual conversation with anybody? They all were so set in their ways and it was so much easier to just blend into the background.

He remembered his mum talking about it when he was very young— _Jimmy’s just got anxiety._ At the time, he blamed Carl Powers. The boy had always laughed at him and teased him for a stutter he’d quickly learned to get rid of. But he couldn’t forget Carl Power’s laughing face whenever he tried to be friends with anybody new. So he stopped him.

From the very beginning, power was the answer. Power was the one thing that stopped anybody laughing and it was the one thing that made sure he didn’t have to worry about friends anymore. No one wanted to be friends with him before, no one dared be friends with him now. But still, it was nice to blend into the background.

 

His tee shirt hung loosely on his thin frame as he leaned forward on the table. A pastry and a steaming mug of tea caressed his nose with their aroma as he flipped through the morning newspaper, chewing his first bite of the cream-filled pastry. He ordered the same thing every day at this little shop. It was a risk, sure. At some point someone would recognize him. But it felt so much safer to know what he wanted to order and to be ready than have to think of it on the spot, with the barista staring him.

As he shifted one hand away from the paper, eyes still fixed on a particularly interesting story, and reached down to pick up his tea, he noticed a flourish of red hair across from him. His eyes seemed to move on their own and he watched a woman, her neat auburn bun pinned at the nape of her neck, chew anxiously on the end of her pen before scratching some notes on a pad and then typing something into her computer. _A reporter._

There were few people as awful as reporters. In fact, he couldn’t think of any. Now, with so many connections, he had little to fear from a bit of publicity. But people who made a living preying on others that way just seemed disgusting. Luckily, she didn’t seem to be very good at it. Even from the next table over, Jim could see as she typed and retyped a headline three times before settling: “Dairy Alternatives: Is It Still Tea With Coconut Milk?” He almost felt bad for her. Almost.

“Kitty?” the barista called, holding up a mug. The redheaded woman looked up and went to the counter, thanking the barista as she took the drink.

“Is it any good, that?” he asked, without even meaning to. Something about the way her eyes sparkled and her eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she took a sip caught his attention.

She glanced up at him, revealing shocking blue eyes. Her pert lips formed a curious expression and she cocked her head. “It’s alright, yeah.”

“Anything like regular tea? Y’know, with regular milk?” He didn’t mean to keep talking. A flush rose in his neck and his anxiety fluttered angrily in his stomach.

Kitty laughed. “Ah, so you’re reading over my shoulder, then. Might as well help me then.” She set the mug down across the table from where he sat and moved her laptop, pad bag, and a chair to sit in front of him. “What’s your name?”

Jim’s throat tightened. He very suddenly wished he wasn’t Jim Moriarty. He wished he was something funny and charming. “Rich Brooks,” he pieced together from the subtitles on the television screen behind her.

“England’s rich brooks are swarming with frogs right now, and local catchers are enjoying the variety,” the news report went on. Kitty didn’t seem to notice, and smiled again.

“Well, Rich Brooks,” she laughed, pushing the tea towards him. “What do you think? Is it still tea with coconut milk?”

He took a swig and decided wholeheartedly that it was not. “You can quote me on that, but only if you change the headline,” he laughed, leaning forward to see her screen as she turned it for them to share.

“That bad?” she laughed. “I wish I could write on something more interesting. I tried to…well that doesn’t matter.”

His eyes fluttered to hers, as if he couldn’t help himself. “Tried to what?” A smile danced on his lips and he decided that maybe, if he was lucky, Rich Brooks could be funny and charming. With the hand under the table, he pulled his phone out and sent a text to a particularly skilled forger, demanding a detailed backstory and convincing history for this new identity.

She sighed and leaned back, crossing her arms. “I tried to talk to get on the Sherlock Holmes case. He has a trial coming up with some big baddy.”

Jim laughed, throwing his head back. “Honey, have I got a story for you.”


End file.
